Tilting at Windmills
by Arion Hunter
Summary: Don Quixote was right: windmills are a threat to society.


Yet another G Gundam humor piece. While I'm not the greatest of comedians, I most certainly enjoyed working on this little bit of fluff. All Criticism is most anxiously received and taken into account.  
  
Enjoy!  
  
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**Tilting at Windmills**  
  
You know, Don Quixote was right when he said that windmills are an invention to be feared. We are giants of the field, striking fear in the hearts of the greatest Holstein, forcing them into sad submission.  
  
That explains why I spent the first half of my day attempting to herd a group of the indignant bovines away from my newly cleaned windmill to one of the twenty others, all sitting like identical Russian dolls, only they didn't shrink in size. Not like it mattered. I would have to return to my windmill for another hour of waiting. And for what? Not like any Gundam Fighter take me on.   
  
The closest I'd gotten was Neo-Micronesia's Gundam fighter landing outside my windmill to ask me if I had a toilet.  
  
No. Not a challenge.   
  
A toilet.  
  
From Neo-Micronesia, for christsake! Their Gundam looked like it was made of duct tape, bubble gum, a broomstick, and all the beer cans left over from the keggers their engineers insisted on having. But, no, I've got to stay 'undercover'. Hiding in broad daylight. How original.  
  
And to think, when Mr. Micronesia needs something to drown his embarrassment in, he can just rip a leg off his Gundam. Me, I get to eat airline food and milk the cows. There's nothing just and honorable than learning how to milk a cow, of course.  
  
I hurl a final twig after the Holsteins and return to my windmill, ready for another exciting hour of sleeping. Around noon, the incessant beeping that signals an incoming radio transmission.   
  
"Steak or chicken?" The voice of my jailer, so to speak, George Rueben. Apparently the government was afraid I'd go and do something reckless, like attempt to pilot my windmill or go cow tipping.   
  
"Oh, I'd like the filet migion with the fresh steamed vegetables, baked potatoes with rosemary, a fresh fruit cup, all with that little parsley garnish that makes it seem so much more personal. TO drink I'd like a bottle of vintage merlot, preferably not from a major label."  
  
"Steak, then?"  
  
"No Diet Coke this time either. The lack of caffeine led me to sleep and almost miss my daily mail drop."  
  
"Heh. Has your 'Save the Nigerian Financial Ministry Foundation' not sent it's postcard for the month?"  
I took on a chaste tone. "You never know when it just might be your seventy dollars that save one starving, impoverished con man in Nebraska."   
  
Reginald retained his enthusiasm and snorted. "Don't tempt me. That parsley might just mistake a trashcan for your plate."   
  
I snorted and reached for the blinking blue button to cut off the connection, but right as I was to close off my connection to the ever-annoying Reginald, I was interrupted by a saccharinely pleasant ding-dong. I froze, eyes darting left and right to search for the blinking lights, the warning flashes.   
  
Of course, nothing happened. Only another pleasant ding-dong. And another. Above me, Reginald smiled, knowing fully well what was to come.   
  
"What. is. that."  
  
Reginald broke into one of those slow, ever irritating smiles where he shows just one tooth at a time. "Doorbell."  
  
I blink, but retain my seat. By a seatbelt. Otherwise, the rest of me is about to claw the holographic viewing window he's housed in out of its empty-air existence. "I'd kill you if it weren't for the fact you're nothing more than light and vapor."  
  
Reginald's not the most patriotic of men; his grin is open rebellion. "You don't understand the depths to which I wish I were kidding, but our engineers were under very strict instructions. The Nether Gundam was to be as lifelike as possible."  
  
I shake my head, clearing out the various violent thoughts filling my head and smile. "Well, I must be off to meat my guest, no?" As I reach to shut off the connection to my keeper, I add a final retort. "And warn those bureaucrats that if they don't remove that doorbell, at no expense to me, before the finals then I shall so politely paint a nice large crescent directly above forenamed doorbell." I glimpse Reginald chuckling and hear his final reply right before I whisk him away to whatever comfortable office he is in.  
  
"Oh, I shall, no doubt. We can't have our national pride infringed, now can we?"  
  
Honor may be a thin cloak against the chill of a grave, but I doubt that a little dignity would not be too improper. But I know my duty and with as much pride as I can muster place on my herder's cloak and grab the crook resting beside my front door. I check and find it is ready as always with blade concealed inside.   
  
"Yes?" My accent is thick and slurred, lacking the city twang I've had since a child.   
  
The man at my door has that wide-eyed look you rarely forget, one that convinces you he's either forced to do this or has had an overabundance of stimulants. He reaches out to shake my hand, only to find it staying firm at its location beside my hip. "Hi. Have I met you before?"  
  
He pleasantly ignores the fact he's standing in the middle of a field annually fertilized by cow patties, of course. "No."  
  
"Well, you never know where you might meet and old school chum." His use of the word 'chum' frightens me, but I say nothing. He blazes onward, though. "I represent the Neo-Holland National Insurance Agency, your trusty government-subsidized capital venture run by a faceless foreign conglomerate. I'm here to see if you'd be interested in one of our finer plans."  
  
I'm about to turn the man away, but something in his obviously fake grin makes me relent. I wave my hand to the left. "Please, take a seat. I wish I could offer you better furnishings, but I have only embedded boulders."  
  
The man sits with an exuberance that I chalk up to the mind-altering drugs he must have obtained in Amsterdam. "What would you like me to talk about first?"  
  
I'm in need of a good laugh. "Show me all your plans."   
  
"Well, as you probably already know, we are like most companies. Our basic plan is simple enough, proving coverage for all injuries except those that cause any form of physical harm. It is also our cheapest, at the low price of only 11 Euros, to be paid out over several lifetimes by you and all remaining family members.   
  
"But say you were to be up at night, searching for a midnight snack in the kitchen when the phone rings. You dash down your entryway to grab it before the answering machine picks up the call, only to be struck by the ever ubiquities roller skate that lies in the middle of the hallway when you least need it. You flip into the air, nearly smashing your head in the nearby crystal vase of gloxinias and landing unceremoniously on your back. Now you're stuck, unable to commute for work and slapped with a huge hospital bill. That's where our Upgraded plan comes in. Under it, any and all injuries and/or except those that are potentially going to leave you with any sort of handicap, temporary or permanent, such as having to wear a bandage over the bump on your head for a week.  
  
At this moment the man stands, his face lighting up like a parent about to entertain their child with a tall tale. "Even so, a more dangerous case could arise. You're out herding the cattle one day, minding your own business, when the cattle decide to rebel. Now, you may find this to be the fantasy of an overactive mind, but hear me out. You, are only armed with a staff," He paused to wave to the stout staff resting on my knee, "while they have their bulk and numbers. They, with their heavy hooves and short, stubby horns, could impale you to that tree out there," He points across the horizon to a single, bedraggled little twig of a tree, which unceremoniously sways wildly in the breeze, "and leave you for dead. Oh, the pain, the indignity."  
  
I glance over at the Holstein feeding beside me, my face noncommittal. I watch as he dangerously chews his cud and occupies himself with intimidating the cloud floating lazily above him with his blank bovine stare.   
  
The insurance agent takes this as a hopeful sign. "See? You don't know what dangerous thoughts could be going on in that violent bovine mind." He grasps the cow's head, attempting to steer it toward mine. "Just look into those eyes. Don't they look ferocious? Feral? Threatening? Devious?"  
  
At this point, I smile and raise my hand to pause the man, allowing him time enough to regain his seat. I can tell he's hitting his stride and my patience wears thin.   
  
"Sir, please turn around and look out on the horizon. Tell me what you see."   
  
"A tree, several birds, and numerous small stones. Some quite pointy, I might be so gracious to add."  
  
"Now, let me ask you this: How can I be harmed by a single tree over seventy feet away? How can I be harmed by cattle that have less ambition that a housecat?"  
  
"Sir, I really believe you should reconsider."  
  
"Thank you for your most informed opinion, but I shall have to decline on the basis that I live in a windmill out in the middle of a cow field."  
  
I watch as the bedraggled man makes his way out of the field, high stepping around the new deposits. I feel a twinge of regret as I reach for my doorknob, when a soft, obviously bovine sound interrupts my thought processes, insistent in its unspoken demand.   
  
Oh, to be Neo-Holland's Gundam Fighter. What a joy it truly was. 


End file.
